Here's to Success
by Roses on Thursdays
Summary: Ginny is a copy writer. She edits new literature all while wearing the perfect shoes, balancing the perfect drink and writing her third novel. Then a notsooldfriend becomes her ohsonew client. Lucky Draco Malfoy to have such a perfect editor, right?


_Disclaimer for enire story: I do not own Columbia University, no newspapers mentioned, no Harrods, no amazing designers such as Steve Madden, Jimmy Choo, Michael Kors, or Cole Haan, even as minute as some might be. I don't own any of J.K. Rowling's respectable characters or world. I do not want to go after her paycheck. I'm quite content the way I am, thank you. _

Summary: Ginny is a copy writer. She takes words and molds them into masterpieces, all while wearing the perfect shoes, balancing the perfect drink and writing her third novel. Then a not-so-old-friend becomes he oh-so-new client. Lucky Draco Malfoy to have such a perfect editor, right?

_AN- Alright, I know. Another story? Well, my flash drive broke, and that's my excuse for not working on my other fics. I know I can go retrieve them, because they're right there when you click the link to my name. I'm just not...inspired. I know, I know. I'll get on it. After I lose inspiration for this new baby. Which I hope isn't too AU or anti fanon. Or anti canon. Whichever. Hope you enjoy. _

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_Here to Success: Chapter One: Here's to Pretty Shoes_

_God, I just keep getting older, _Ginny thought as she trudged up the stairs that belonged to her flat. Her ridiculously situated flat, seeing as it was six stories higher than it needed to be. Where did it need to be? The great and almighty ground floor. Was it really so hard to put a flat on the ground floor? It's right there, on the, well, ground. It would be thought that piling six undeniably large floors on top of one another would be harder than placing a simple, medium-sized flat on the ground floor. Who needs those fancy lobbies anyway?

She just wanted to get to her amazingly wonderful bed. _Agh, with it's 600 thread-count sheets and its down comforter. Fluffy socks, big jumper, a hideously shaded pair of tracksuit bottoms. _

_Alright, I've already claimed my flat heaven, and I'm climbing towards it. _

It was November and Ginny had decidedly named it the most God-awful Month of the Year. Currently, it was raining/ hacking up wet, slushy loogies of snow-spit on the city of London. Her Jimmy Choos were crying from the moisture, and her toes were shouting at Jimmy 1 and Jimmy 2 to shut up, that they didn't have capillaries to keep warm. Ginny didn't even bother with her personified feet. It was her damn hose that were going to find a way to destroy her. They were rolling at her waist and she was pretty sure that this morning, her dress zipper had caught on the seat of them and now a lovely little not-so-happy trail was making its way down her decidedly vast thighs.

Her hands were chilled, seeing as she didn't consult with the _Prophet_, _Telegraph_ _or _BBC to check how awful the weather would be, so she forgot her gloves _and _her scarf. And she decided to wear gorgeous, pointed sling backs who were silly, material things that, if they were people, they would be two very ostentatious airheads. You know, the kind that wouldn't touch a pair of Timberlands, a hiking brochure, or salt water to save their lives. They weren't hard-headed boots that would at least keep her feet warm. Pretty, and materialistic at the same time, but at least they would defend against the cold as much as their overpriced selves could.

Ginny didn't know what in God's name she was thinking, giving her shoes personality. It wasn't like she really named her shoes. Just, you know, Jimmy 1, Jimmy 2; Stevie 1, Stevie 2; Mikey 1, Mikey 2. She wasn't creative enough to make up real names. She just took them from that neat little label inside the shoe. In Jimmys' case, there wasn't a tag anymore, but she coped.

As she trudged up the stairs she wondered why she dropped several hundred pounds on shoes that just caused her this frozen hell. She already had the godforsaken (but, so, so pretty) Choos by their straps when she approached her door, jamming the key into the knob and nearly flinging herself into her flat.

She smiled happily at it. Even with the soggy, gray light from the wet evening slanting in her windows, making it dull and dark, it was a charming home. There were lovely hardwood floors and a living room centered around navy, cream and gold. Her kitchen was quite Muggle-esque in its high-tech, stainless steel glory. She was still attempting to learn how to operate the microwave. And the refrigerator. And the dish washer.

Smiling happily, Ginny closed the door and slid down the back of it, slumping in her flat's warmth. The day had sucked.

She woke up this morning to find that her boyfriend, of the ex variety, had not actually moved out. In fact, he was accompanying her in bed. Sitting up angrily she whacked him with a pillow and bluntly told him "What the fuck?"

He was a Muggle and a physically acceptable one at that. His hair was always a mess, shaggy and blond. His blue eyes were hidden under thick glasses, and he had bad teeth. But he was sweet. A sleeze ball, but sweet. And she loved that stubble he always missed underneath his chin.

She met him back when her second novel was released. He was a reporter for _The London Times _and had interviewed her for a feature story back in March. He called her back for coffee, claiming he had a few more questions. They got to chatting and by the time she had to leave, she asked about the questions. He just smiled and told her he lied, and he just wanted to see her again. He moved in two months later.

Ginny soon realized that with Muggles came irresponsibility. Or was that just males? He was only a few years younger than Ginny, but it seemed like he couldn't beat a fifth year's maturity level. Even if his slight boyishness and lame tendencies were charming and not enough to kick him out, she found out that his editor edited a little more than just his articles.

She asked him to move out two weeks ago, and he was taking it slow. Oh, so slow. Everyday she told him to get out. They weren't even on speaking terms. He'd sleep on the couch and slowly pack his things in the evening. He had been gone for a few days, and she figured he'd just be back to get the last few boxes. But that morning, she turned over on to her side to smack the alarm clock to find that Obstinate Pig had, in fact, not left the sty yet.

She yelled and called him an insufferable, irresponsible, insensitive (and some other words that began with an I) prick while American pop blared in the background, the alarm yet to be shut off. She called him a fuckball and shoved him off of the bed, unplugging the alarm. She then trudged to the shower and got ready for work.

She tried to make her mood better by throwing on her favorite dress, an all-black, linen number with quarter-length sleeves, and empire waist and big, fat green buttons at the bust. But the zipper only caught on her pantyhose. So she threw on her adorable Jimmy 1 and Jimmy 2. And _that _went well.

They only thing that went well was her hair. It fell full and thick, kind of like a pretty, Muggle commercial. You know the ones, with the women who _have _to be wearing wigs, or weaves or something to make their hair look like a multi-prismatic acid trip.

Ginny had Apparated to work, popping up in her office. She did this rarely. She normally took to the Underground or a taxi, because they gave her a moment to think and breathe. But this morning, her Pig Abusing had taken a big chunk out of her morning. As did her extremely long shower. And the wrestling with the dress and the godforsaken pantyhose. Bloody whores. That's what they were. Pantyhose. They even had that American slang word in them. HO. Sent straight from Satan, or Merlin, or a very pissed of Aphrodite, or _whoever _to royally screw over every working women in the world. Ginny fell into her chair thinking, _better than blasted corsets. _

At that moment her mousy secretary bounced in. She was about five feet tall with extremely long brown hair, a pointed nose and couldn't be a day over twenty-two. Her big brown eyes reflected her discomfort. Ginny couldn't blame her. September through December was Hell Week (or Half a Year) for the publishing company. And that meant copy writer Ginevra Weasley was always tense. Too bad that Ginny was already in a bad mood and couldn't really take pity of Kendra (that was her name, right?).

"Good morning, Miss Weasley," she said, standing rigidly in front of Ginny in her white tights, brown penny loafers and corduroy dress. Ginny rubbed her eyes with one hand.

"Kendra, you poor, insane little witch, it's Ginny. I know that we will go through this cycle every single day, but _please. _Just. Ginny."

Kendra was in fact a witch, graduating from an exclusive school in Surry not too long ago, just to go to a Muggle college just like Ginny. Unlike Kendra though, Ginny needed to get out of the blasted island named England. She sent an application to the tiny Magic Department at Columbia University in New York City. They converted her grades at Hogwarts and provided a tangible high school transcript. They accepted her early-admission. She went as an English major, minoring in Creative Writing and randomly, Russian. She took night classes at the Magic Department just to keep herself sharp. Her studies revolved around charms and medicine.

Her parents never wanted her to go. The tuition was outrageously high. Even Cambridge was cheaper than Ivy league colleges. But she started applying for scholarships in fifth year. She ended up with two year's tuition right there. She shuddered in thought of sixth and seventh year. So many blasted essays.

Then, she had Harry cosign a loan. She didn't like the idea of starting out in the real world with debt, but it was better than staying in England going to a college without a change in scenery.

Harry was in Auror school, as expected. His extra tutoring in Potions finally got him where he needed. Ron was along beside him, while Hermione decided to go to Cambridge and study under their School of Magic. She ended up surprising everyone and reading under Medicine.

Everyone tried to persuade her from leaving, but she decided to grow wings and fly. Sure, her best friend Sasha decided to become a part of her flock, but it was the first time she didn't step into the patterns of her family.

Besides, America was the best time of her life. She discovered the glory of high-class women, coffee-carts, energy drinks and onion rings. She worked in a bookstore stocking books, serving coffee and curling up after hours between the Non-fiction and Test Prep sections reading Chick Lit, Austen, Steinbeck and Huxley.

She discovered nightclubs and a drink called an Amaretto Sour. And the Fuzzy Navel. And Tequila shots. Lord Almighty, did she love Tequila.

She also discovered hangovers, exam cramming and the effects of too much caffeine on an empty stomach.

Then there was love. Something she never expected for herself. Something she didn't exactly want. For Ginny Weasley, it was studying, traveling and writing. Men didn't fit into her future. She wanted them to, but she accepted the fact that they weren't going to stick around for talented, destined-to-see-the-world, gonna-kick-their-ass-at-a-successful-career woman.

So, it took her by surprise when she found herself at a lull in her life, when she was just going through the rhythms of stocking books, making coffee, attending classes, writing essays and boring stuff altogether. You know, planning her next vacation to Moscow. Prague. Barcelona. Well, her first vacation, anyway. Writing her debut novel. Writing a symphony. She had _that _much time on her hands.

It was her junior year at Columbia when Austin entered her life. She was sitting behind the counter, balancing herself on a not-so-comfortable stool reading some historical fiction book on a very slow evening at Border's. He walked up to her, opened his mouth, but Ginny shushed him with one long raised finger. She finished her paragraph and snapped the book closed.

"What? No bookmark?" he asked, looking a bit agitated.

"No," she said, smiling. He was tall, with scruffy brown hair and soft brown eyes. His features were soft and boyish, and his lips were a bit too wide. They reminded her of Julia Roberts. On a guy. But his long straight nose and angled chin made up for the feminism in his lips. He wore black trousers and a sky-blue button down under a black leather jacket. She felt awfully simple in a frayed braid, coffee stained khakis and a burgundy long-sleeved baby-tee that she pushed up to her elbows.

"Right then, good to know that I waited here for more moments than necessary so you could finish your sentence just to show that you won't even know where to go to when I'm gone," he said. Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"For your information, I was on page 265, paragraph three and I don't take thirty seconds to finish a sentence. I'm not daft," she said, treading dangerous waters. He was a snob and probably didn't care whether or not she would be screwed for the rest of her life if he got her fired. She watched his face change, as most people's in New York did when she spoke. "Oh, please. It's just an accent," she said in exasperation.

"No, it's not that. My roommate's British. I couldn't care any less about where you were born. It's the fact that you memorized all of that information," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Oh," she said, well, daftly. "I can't use bookmarks," she explained. "They drive me nuts." She wasn't about to tell him that she had a charm on the book to open to the page she left off on. She _did _memorize that though. And bookmarks _did _drive her nuts. He nodded, looking impressed. His attitude unnerved her, so she shifted on her stool.

"So, what is it exactly that you can't wait to get to?" she asked. His eyes flicked up to the menus and down back her.

"Just a latte," he said.

"Just a latte? You interrupted a poor barista from a thick-plotted piece of historical fiction trash to order just a latte?" she joked. He smiled at her.

"Alright, I'll have a grande triple latte with a shot of toffee."

Ginny smiled and slid off of her stool. She threw her black apron around her neck and wrapped the ties around her and started on his latte.

"Hey, you're in my Mythology class, aren't you?" he asked. She looked over her shoulder and looked at him a bit longer. She didn't recognize him.

"Maybe. Jeddson's?" she asked. He nodded.

"Thursday at ten?" he asked. Ginny nodded. He smirked. "Yeah, that' right. You sit in the back and read some random book the entire time." Ginny laughed and turned back to his latte.

"I hate that class," she said, shaking her head.

"Why? I think Jeddson's passion is invigorating," he said, enthralled. She turned to the counter, holding his coffee in one hand, taking a lid and putting it on top, making sure it wasn't even with the seams of the paper cup.

"Yes, that's true. But he uses Hamilton like the bible. And she's just got it all wrong. Her creatures are far from the truth," she said it, looking up, without thinking. _Shit. _A strange look came across his face.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Ginny tried to scramble for an excuse, because she couldn't very well say that she's met half of the real creatures and that Edith Hamilton was just a Muggle with a very large perception of reality.

"Uh... well, I mean. If he uses just Hamilton, then how are we to know the other versions. Mythology has been around for so long, that there's no way that some very lonely woman writing a book in the 1960's could be right about it all." _Alright, not bad. He's not stupid, so you still sound like a bint, but hey, nice save Gin. _"That'll be 3.57" she said, pushing the latte towards him.

After that, she saw his face in Border's more often. He always ordered something different, and they always talked about something different. About what book she was reading, about what book he was reading, about her major, his major, everything simple and complicated. They had met in October. She ended up sleeping with him in December.

It was an interesting relationship. He was a sophomore going into Engineering from Detroit, a town (was it a state?) that she hadn't even heard of, and from a fairly wealthy family. But she fell in love with him, and he with her. He was her longest relationship to this day (the awful one in London, England with the run in her hose, the slush in her shoes and the whiney secretary in her ear). After a year and a half run, he told her that he had fallen out of love with her. Just out of the blue, one May morning before her graduation. Heartbroken and stunned, she moved out, canceled their trip to France, graduated with a few of her friends and left for England a week later. That summer, she got a job at _Linnen and Bisbon, _a new publishing company in London and had been there ever since.

"I know...Ginny. It's just so-"

"Informal. Yes, Kendra, you keep telling me," Ginny said, back in the present. She stood out of her slouching position and tried to smile at Kendra. "But please, just follow through and call me Ginny from now on. Miss Weasley _really _annoys me. Coming from you anyway," she began walking around the large office she shared with Nina. She hung up her coat in the closet, talking to Kendra. "You've been working for me for what? A year now?" She whipped around. "Formal terms are not necessary."

At that moment, Nina Apparated in the office, looking slightly disheveled. Ginny smirked.

"You're late," she said evilly. Nina shot a long hard glare at her, stomping to the closet, and shoving her Dolce and Gabbana coat into it, causing the cream and gold suede to melt into a puddle in the corner. She tossed the Hermes bag on top of it.

"Really, Neen. Neither you nor I make enough money to waste that much on clothing and then shove it into a pile on floor," Ginny said. Giving it a long look, she walked away from it, not bothering. Her mean gesture went unproductive though, because Kendra scuttled quickly over to the closet to hang up Nina's coat and purse.

Nina and Ginny didn't really get along that well. The pampered blonde was dedicated to her work, but was more dedicated to the Mai Tai and _Vogue _more. She spent most of her money on extraordinarily expensive clothing and the rest of it on night clubs and cocktails. Ginny and Nina were also competition. Ginny was two years younger than Nina, and Nina was still one of the youngest copy editors on staff. They both strived for the attention of the Editors in Chief Jacob Linnen and Brandon Bisbon.

The two men were best mates coming out of college and they started the company together ten years ago. Now, they were one of the best-selling publishers in Muggle England.

Nina really couldn't stand Ginny. For one, Ginny was younger than her and was still on her way to a promotion. Ginny had published two books under an agent at _Linnen and Bisbon _with a third title in the worksNina had no desire to write a book, just edit them, but Ginny's recent best-selling novels had given her not only a raise but an office with Nina and conversation status with Linnen and Bisbon.

"Oh, shut it, Ginny. We're just under the six-digit range. I'm very well to afford that coat and treat it which ever way I please," she huffed, sitting down behind her mahogany desk. Ginny sighed and turned back to her desk, walking over to it and sitting down promptly, switching on her iMac.

"Well, at least you could have the decency to thank Kendra for hanging up your coat," she said. She didn't have the nerve to tell Nina that she was in fact over the six-digit range. In fact, her six digits this year had a three in front of it due to her book sales. The reason why _she _didn't have a Dolce and Gabbana suede jacket to throw on just for apparation was because she was still too humble to drop so much money on an article of clothing. Sure, she broke down to buy the most gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choos every once and a while, or maybe Michael Kors. But most of the time, she stuck to Gianni Bini and Steve Madden. Even then, dropping 60 pounds on a pair of shoes made her squeamish.

Most of her money went to traveling. An entire month of vacation in the summertime was given to her for appreciation of her double publications. Sure, she was air-mailed manuscripts to edit, but that was expected. She spent an entire month in Russia, just being there.

She loved Moscow, the way there was ice cream stands on every corner and how the subways were so clean that she didn't feel the need to curl up inside of herself whenever she stepped onto it. She loved how it felt to be completely immersed in the culture. And the ballet, she loved the ballet. She went to a ballet almost every other evening.

She loved the chocolate and a drink called Kvass. And Tarhun. And she got knocked on her ass one night drinking absinthe.

She came back to London with a proposition for Linnen and Bisbon. Which they hastily pushed away.

Sitting in her chair, she wished she was in Moscow right now. Really, she would be wrapped in mink and cashmere and wouldn't be able to feel any of her extraneous limbs, but it just sounded better than sharing a room with a twittering mouse and borderline-thirty snob with an entire pub stuck up her ass.

Sighing, she looked up at Kendra. "What's on the plans for today?"

Kendra's eyes got real big, and Ginny couldn't help thinking that she looked like a lemur with really long hair and bad shoes. A very starving lemur. Ginny cocked her head to the side and observed for the hundredth time how extremely tiny Kendra was. She was like a cardboard cut out. The most substance to her was a waffle-like piece of paper interwoven between two skins. _Hey, at least she has something in common with food. _

"Jesus, Ginny, are you sure you're not a lesbian? That is the third time I've caught you checking out Kendra, and you're still a boyfriendless hag with no fashion sense," she heard Nina pipe. Ginny straightened and blushed.

"I wasn't checking her out!" she exclaimed. "I mean, look at her! She's so unbelievably _small!" _

"Christ, Weasley!" Nina exclaimed, shaking her extremely blonde bob. "Her breasts aren't that little!"

Ginny growled in frustration. "I'm talking about her Body Mass Index, you brainless idiot." Nina raised an eyebrow, and Ginny turned to Kendra. "Really, honey, do you _eat?" _

"Ginny, leave the poor witch alone. Going on and talking about her like that. She looks terrified!"

Indeed, Kendra looked very frightened. She was in the middle of a very well-recited itinerary of what Nina and Ginny had on their schedules today before Nina made her comment. Ginny whirled in Nina's direction.

"And for your information, I just got out of a five-month relationship with a guy. A _male." _

"Key words, doll. You just _got out of _one," she said, pushing back her cuticle. Ginny growled in immense anger, swiveling in her chair to face Kendra who looked like she was about to fall to the floor in emotional exertion.

"As you were saying, Kendra," she said.

"Well, Mr Linnen says to have the Broadman manuscript edited and formatted by noon today. Elliot Verbum called and said that he needs to know the due date for his third chapter. You have a meeting with Linda Thomas at..."

And her day went off in the destruction and whirlwind of skipping breakfast and lunch, no being brave enough to drink any coffee on top of an empty stomach. She kept dreaming of Russia, Austin Smith, and worrying whether or not she was indeed a lesbian. The latter was only because she was in a low blood-sugar, no caffeine state and completely stressed out about signing Elliot Verbum because, frankly his work was beginning to drive her nuts.

She had to fire one of her own writers because she was claiming writer's block for a month now.

"If you can't knock down a Styrofoam wall, Miss Clair Abernathy, I swear to God, I am going to have to knock it down for you," she said in reference to her client's writer's block. "Do I think I care whether or not it's Styrofoam or concrete? The difference between a character with an astrological name or a Roman name does not call for another postponing of your deadline, Miss Abernathy! You are costing me money, and frankly, if your book's sole purpose depends on the outcome of a bloody _name,_ I'm going to have to tell you to find another GOD- DAMN- _AGENT!" _she yelled into the phone, slamming it down on its cradle. She had enough of that woman. She was promising, but now she was just beginning to think she was a crack head with an overdose of Norse Mythology.

She left the office as soon as possible, but she found herself cursing the world again. London wasn't quite so stupid. Almost every flat building had apparation blocks. You could Disapparate, but Apparating inside of the building was prohibited. Ginny shuddered in thought of how much disaster could be caused by a bad wizard on a crime swig without the blocks. They had them in nearly every big city in the world.

But when she had to climb the stairs every single day, she began to curse their very existence. That and her phobia for elevators.

Yes, she could trust herself in traveling through time and space in risk of not ending up whole, but she wouldn't ride straight up and down in an elevator.

Ginny reached up over her head and cut on the lights to her flat. Immediately, the warmth in the room grew. Grinning wildly, Ginny kicked off her shoes and made a mad dash to her bedroom. She put on Jet and took about twenty minutes too long getting dressed than necessary. She strip-teased to a particularly fun song. Well, she more wiggled her ass in her underwear than performed a Vegas-winning performance, but she had fun. She pulled on gray sweats and a long-sleeved tee with COLUMBIA printed across the front. She took out her contacts and made the dive for spectacular bum-dom by putting on her glasses. She then plopped down in front of her door with a bag of chocolate frogs, instant coffee and her lap top. She didn't know what it was, but the spot in front of her front door was more inspiring than any other spot in her house. One of the most comfortable too.

She had just gotten into the groove of her second chapter of her new book when there was a knock on her door. Sighing agitatedly and praying to God that it was Obstinate Pig or worse her really cute neighbor (she didn't want him to see her in such a bum-dom state), she pushed her lap top, frogs and coffee to the side to stand up and open the door.

"I come bearing food!"

Ginny grinned and ushered Sasha in. Sasha had been her friend for what a lot of people would say was way too long. They had been best friends fifth, sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts and roommates at Columbia. Sasha came to Hogwarts from a Russian school of magic her fifth year, and they just sort of clicked. They had a lot of "me too" moments. She returned back to England after college with Ginny and somehow ended up living in the same building five years later. They also worked in the same building, which Ginny just found laughable. At least they weren't living within the same quarters anymore. That was just madness. This was just a slightly smaller version of madness.

Sasha was co-owner and founder of the raging magazine _Crass. _It was short for the Russian word crasivoya meaning beautiful, and used the real definition of the English word. Sasha was into oxymorons and idioms. _Crass _was becoming an extremely successful magazine in Muggle England and Magical England. The ideas of a Russian _Crass _were being discussed, but Sasha's other co-founder was about to leave her the sole owner of _Crass. _He decided that he enjoyed the five-year ride, but he was done with the magazine business. She was waiting until she could get the entire company under control under her grasp before she started the third project.

Sasha and Ginny had entire night of toasts devoted to nothing but their success. A big HAH in the faces of those that doubted them. Ginny had enough money to move into a much nicer flat, to buy five of Nina's coats, and another pair of Jimmy's and still be okay to eat whereas Sasha could probably retire if she'd like. They were both living the lives they always wanted, successful and lucky at 26 years of age. Of course, neither of them had a guy or enough audacity to live richly. Or really any time to party.

But they did have Thai food, because Sasha had just walked into Ginny's apartment smelling wonderfully like Pad Thai, Curry and Sweet and Sour. Ginny jumped up and down excitedly, her chocolate, bad coffee and barely-there second chapter forgotten.

"You know what? I love you," Ginny said, helping Sasha shovel the Thai food from the brown paper bags. And God bless her, a bottle of Tequila.

"So, it's not your traditional combination of ethnicity, but it's raining outside," Sasha said, grinning.

"And?" Ginny inquired.

"It's raining outside and you must've had a bad day," she finished, navigating around Ginny's kitchen like she had a GPS (Ginny tried one of those at Harrods, she about had an aneurysm in confusion). She grabbed two forks and brandy glasses.

"Thanks, doll. Good to know that you can predict my mood on the weather," Ginny said sarcastically, sitting on one of her stools, opening the egg rolls. Sasha grinned as she sat down next to her. She was an aggressive pretty. She had fierce eyes and a face that got most anything she ever wanted out of anybody. Between her sweet smile and dangerous expressions, her odd beauty matched with her defiant personality, bluntly scared the shit out of everyone. Unfortunately, that's how it was with the guys, too. Normally, only the brave ones tried. And they were normally arrogant bastards who ended up scared away by her success. Ginny would give anything for her to have someone reliable. And it was the same way the other way around. Sasha practically hated Obstinate Pig.

"Hey, Floozy Reporter Guy's boxes are gone," she said, changing the subject while pouring the tequila. Ginny looked around and shrugged.

"I haven't had time to notice. That's good."

"I could hear the shouting from my bedroom," Sasha commented. Ginny's eyes widened in horror.

"Really? But I called him a fuckball! Oh, shit," she said. She hated looking like anything but a lady. Well, most of the time she really didn't care, but the people on the floor above her were practically from the Victorian age and terribly kind people. Sasha laughed.

"No, dear. I came by to ask if you wanted to go out for Thai food tonight, and I overheard the argument," she said, shoveling curry into her mouth. "I doubt even Great Ass Neighbor Guy heard you." Ginny laughed.

"I thought he was Low Slung Jeans Neighbor Guy yesterday. Now he's G-A-N-G?" Ginny said, sipping her tequila. Sasha spit her food out in laughter.

"Oh, Lord, we're sticking to L-S-J-N-G," she said through giggles. Ginny cocked her head to the side.

"Wh- OH!" They both erupted into laughter. They were stupid enough to laugh at things like this.

"Actually, I had the serendipity of running into him on the elevator this afternoon coming home from work. I was on my way out and he was obviously running late for a date, because Happy Trail Neighbor Guy had his arm and head halfway through a T-shirt and kept screaming 'hold the door!'" Sasha said triumphantly.

"Oh, did you just use the word serendipity? And did you just rename him Happy Trail Neighbor Guy, because if you did, we're going to down this entire bottle of tequila and we're going to go propose something awful and American to him."

"Darling, I do believe it was the British that invented the threesome," Sasha said, holding up her glass in a future toast while Ginny dissolved into laughter. Ginny grabbed her glass and poured some more liquor, and they toasted once again to their success.

"And our misfortunes of being godawfully single, again," Ginny added.

"Honey, you were better off single than with that tramp," Sasha said, shaking her head.

"Hey, at least I have HTNG as my neighbor," Ginny said smugly. Sasha wrinkled her nose.

"I know, I'm so jealous. I want the guh business mogul as my neighbor." "Guh" was Ginshanese for "Unbelievably, delectably, tantalizingly gorgeous/hot/yum." Ginny grinned and turned to her food.

"Guess you'll just have to sleep with him first, then won't you?' Ginny offered with a sly game.

"Are you giving him to me?" Sasha said astonished.

"Hell no. I just don't have the time for that kind of thing," Ginny said, shrugging.

"And I do? This is the woman who is about to commit career suicide by opening another branch in Russia just so I can crash my personal jet into the ground five months later." Sasha said, finishing her second glass of tequila. Ginny and Sasha could drink several men under the table.

"You have a personal jet?" Ginny said, feigning envy.

"Give me a couple of years," she said, smirking.


End file.
